


Casual Encounters

by LemonScience33



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Based on a Craigslist ad, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 14:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16745449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonScience33/pseuds/LemonScience33
Summary: “Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?”At 31 years old, Connor Kamski has finally stopped pretending to be the perfect son his father and grandmother raised him to be: conventional, obedient, and heterosexual. A Craigslist ad for a “strictly platonic date” presents the perfect solution.





	Casual Encounters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harry slimegargoyle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Harry+slimegargoyle).



> I guess I’m officially in deep now, aren’t I? Based on this [Craigslist ad](http://orchidbreezefc.tumblr.com/post/152879983365/its-that-time-of-year) and a prompt by my best friend Harry [slimegargoyle](http://slimegargoyle.tumblr.com/). Thank you, too, to Harry for the beta. I asked them to treat this like a kink meme prompt and not go too deep, and any errors that remain are a result of me not listening to them. :)

Connor’s Thanksgiving plans change at 10:03 AM, exactly one week before the holiday.

 _Markus invited to me to Carl’s estate,_ Simon’s text says, _and I think it might be a big deal. Friendsgiving on Wednesday instead of Thursday?_

Holidays are fraught when you’re a gay man raised by a Libertarian software engineer with a gun fetish and a Southern Baptist grandmother. Connor is just about done with the whole ordeal. That said, Simon has been in love with Markus for what is actually two years but feels like their whole lives, and Connor’s two friends have been growing closer for months now in a way that feels heavy with promise.

 _Go get your man_ , Connor texts back. He locks his phone, puts it in his pocket, and smiles when he feels the vibration of three texts in quick succession.

Still, he thinks, blowing out a breath, this leaves him with the unenviable choice of loneliness or _his family_ for the day itself.

He thinks about it for awhile before pulling out his phone.

 _It would appear that I’m seeing my family for Thanksgiving,_ he texts North. _Do you have any creative ideas for how to handle it?_

Fifteen minutes later, she texts back a Craigslist link, which Connor opens immediately.

 _Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad?_ the ad reads, and Connor snorts.

 _I am a 53-year-old bisexual bear,_ the ad continues, _with an ex-wife and a broken-down 1981 Ford Crown Vic. I can play anywhere between the ages of 45 and 60 depending on whether or not I trim my beard and pull back my hair. I’m a cop and work long hours on low-profile cases. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m game. Life as a desk jockey who barely sees the field anymore is mind-numbing, and I could use the excitement._

_I can do these things, at your request:_

  * _Instigate arguments about politics and/or religion._
  * _Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on. (I don’t drink much, but I used to. A lot. Too much, in fact. I know the drill.)_
  * _Propose to you in front of everyone._



_I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest and the thrill of going undercover for the first time in years._

  * _do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers_



Connor frowns. He adjusts his tie. Then, he picks up his phone again and drafts an email.

 _My name is Connor_ , he writes. _I’m a 31-year-old twink with daddy issues. My father is pro-cop, anti-gay software CEO, and I think it’s time he and the rest of my family stopped assiduously pretending I’m straight. How would you like to eat a free meal courtesy of a rich homophobe?_

Connor hits send, feeling more nervous than he would have expected. A few minutes later, he gets a response.

_That sounds like more fun than I’ve had in years, kid. Just let me know what you want from me, and I’ll be there._

_All of it,_ Connor writes back, and he doesn’t realize until later how true that is.

01101000

On Thanksgiving day, Connor shows up at Lt. Hank Anderson’s home an hour before they’re supposed to leave so they can hammer out the details in person. Hank introduces Connor to his dog, a giant and perfect Saint Bernard named Sumo, whose face Connor smooshes in his hands while Sumo’s tail wags joyfully.

Hank is 6’4” and powerfully built, with his beard trimmed neatly and his thick silver hair pulled back in a ponytail. He walks with a self-assured swagger that makes Connor draw in a gasp he hopes is subtle. Connor’s “strictly platonic” date looks like he walked out of one of Connor’s most long-held fantasies.

They agree on the plan for the night, and then Hank holds out his hand. “Ready to show them what a deviant you are?” he says, and his voice resonates somewhere between Connor’s heart and his long-neglected dick.

Connor shakes his hand. “I’m not a deviant,” he says, raising his eyebrows innocently. “I’m a good Midwestern boy.”

Hank laughs deep in his chest, and Connor finds himself grinning back.

 01100001

Dinner goes perfectly from the moment Connor’s father opens the door and comes face-to-face with Hank, whom Connor introduces as his boyfriend of two years.

Elijah Kamski’s face freezes, then twitches into a forced smile. He shakes Hank’s hand. “Come in,” he says, looking like he’d rather slam the door in their faces and the only thing stopping him is some vague sense of good breeding.

“Connor, you’ve met my secretary, Chloe,” Elijah says, ushering forward a gorgeous blonde whose smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Elijah slides his arm around her in a proprietary manner, and Connor feels Hank tense beside him.

 _Are you beginning to understand what a massive asshole my father is?_ Connor thinks.

Hank glances meaningfully between Elijah and Chloe, and then he smiles at her. “What’s an intelligent woman such as yourself doing here with us?”

Chloe’s smile falters for a moment. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go for the holiday,” she says. “I’m lucky Mr. Kamski opened his home to me.”

“We’re all lucky for his generosity, aren’t we?” Hank says, and places a huge, possessive hand on the back of Connor’s neck. Hank’s thumb brushes lightly over the sensitive skin, and Connor shivers.

“Why don’t we all go inside?” Elijah demands, and shows them into his mansion. Connor’s adoptive grandmother, Amanda, who reconciled with Elijah a few years back, is perched in the parlor with a cup of coffee. Her eyes flit to where Hank has taken Connor’s hand, and she wears the same disapproving expression she used to level on young Connor when he got too emotional, too expressive.

Connor squeezes Hank’s hand, and Hank squeezes back.

“I wasn’t sure if we’d be seeing you this year, Connor,” Amanda says. She sips her coffee. “You’ve been so busy since you went back to school.”

In truth, Connor hasn’t been that busy. His second college degree, Criminal Justice, has challenged him far less than the Computer Science degree his father pushed him into a decade ago. Connor was raised with computers and understands code like he’s made of it, but programming doesn’t fulfill him. What Connor loves most is helping people find answers when they have nowhere else to turn, and becoming a private investigator is the best way he knows to keep doing that.

Amanda wouldn’t understand, of course. What she cares about is that he remains respectable. Useful. “I’ve been focusing on my courses,” he says.

“Connor is taking a class on Gender and Race, aren’t you, Con?” Hank says. “Elijah—can I call you Elijah?—I’m sure you’d find it fascinating.”

“Would I?” Elijah says flatly.

Connor doesn’t bother to hide his grin.

 01101110

Dinner is a massive roast turkey cooked in-house by Elijah’s private chef, with half a dozen sides that arrive as individually plated servings. It’s a finicky meal, and Hank makes a show of drowning his mashed potatoes in extra gravy and eating bites of turkey with his hands, which makes Connor stifle a snort into his napkin.

“What do you do for work, Hank?” Chloe asks. It’s the first thing she’s said since they came inside.

“I’m a cop,” Hank says around a mouthful of potatoes. He swallows. “Used to be on a cocaine task force, until I became an alcoholic and my ex-wife left me. Now I take the shit work no one else wants.” This is their agreed-upon story, and it has the advantage of being true.

Elijah’s expression is pained, and Connor feels alive. “Thank you for your service to Detroit,” Elijah says finally.

When the conversation turns to gun control and Hank is in favor—“I think we ought to be working toward a country where cops don’t need guns,” he says—Connor gets to watch something inside his father break.

01101011

After dinner, they move to the sitting room for dessert and cocktails. Hank asks for a whiskey, which another blonde woman brings him with a slightly more genuine smile than she gives Elijah.

Connor can’t believe he’s having fun. The plan was for Hank to be himself as much as possible, just more obnoxious, but Connor doesn’t find him obnoxious at all. In fact, Connor _likes_ him. He likes how funny Hank is, how cutting, how warm he can be to people he senses are in need of it. People like Chloe. People like Connor, maybe.

Hank spills half his drink on the hardwood floor. From his courses, Connor recognizes this as a tactic for pretending you’ve drunk more than you actually have. Half an hour and two more drinks in, Hank has his arm around Connor and is toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck, laughing heartily at something Connor said, and Connor is _dying_.

“This spring, we’ll be releasing an advanced analysis tool for police agencies, codename RK900,” Elijah says in a smug tone.

Hank looks at Connor, eyes twinkling. “Why? You’ve already created an advanced analysis tool.” He ruffles Connor’s hair. “You should see him collecting evidence—all he has to do is lick something and he can tell you everything about where it came from,” he jokes. He looks Connor up and down, and Connor’s skin tingles. “It’s weird at first, but once you get used to it, it’s sexy as hell.”

Connor knows this is fake, knows Hank isn’t drunk and isn’t his boyfriend, but his stomach flips anyway. Hank isn’t interested, and Connor shouldn’t take anything about this seriously, but he can’t help it. Connor wants him, and not just for tonight.

“You know, Elijah,” Hank is saying, “You did good with this one.” His eyes are so blue, and as he gazes at Connor, he gets off the couch and onto one knee. “Hey, Con, I’ve gotta question for ya,” he says, and Connor is fucked, he’s absolutely _fucked_. Hank pulls out a ring, and Connor’s heart pounds. “You make me happier than I’ve been in a long time,” Hank says. “Whaddya say we do this forever?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Connor breathes. He feels the cool metal of the ring slide onto his finger. Then, just like they planned, Hank cups Connor’s face and kisses him.

Hank’s beard brushes Connor’s cheeks as he takes Connor’s bottom lip between his, leaning in so that Connor has to arch his back like a romantic heroine in a film. Hank is so warm and solid that even here, kissing a man in front of the adults who told him he was made wrong, Connor feels safe.

This kiss isn’t real—it’s for the benefit of Connor’s homophobic family. He knows that.

But when Hank picks him up, Connor instinctively wraps his legs around Hank’s waist and slides his hands into Hank’s thick silver hair. They kiss until Amanda clears her throat so hard that Connor thinks she might be choking to death on her own evil.

Elijah doesn’t say goodnight, simply turns on his heel and leaves the room. As Connor adjusts his clothing, he locks eyes with Hank, and a shiver runs through him again. “Job well done,” Hank murmurs.

Chloe approaches them. “Congratulations on your engagement,” she says, and Connor thinks she really means it. “Also, I’ve never seen him speechless before.”

Hank pulls out a business card from his coat pocket and hands it to her. “The Detroit Police Department is currently hiring experienced secretaries. The pay isn’t great, but it’s a living wage, and there’s no strings attached.”

Chloe draws in a breath. “Okay,” she says. She tucks the business card into her clutch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

00100111

Hank drives Connor home in his 1981 Ford Crown Vic. The heat is blasting to keep the windows from fogging up, and Connor feels wired and wrung-out at the same time.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” Hank says. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Connor’s heart stutters. “I had a good time, too,” he says. “Thank you for responding to my message about your ad.”

Hank shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m not sure what got into me, posting that,” Hank says. “I guess I was just feeling bored and unfulfilled, looking to spread some chaotic good.”

“Well, you certainly did,” Connor says. “Especially Chloe. It was kind of you to offer her an out.”

“She deserves better. So do you.”

They pull up to Connor’s driveway, and he swallows. “Well. This is me,” he says stupidly.

Snow is falling outside the car, and Connor imagines it collecting in Hank’s hair. Connor wants to slide his hands through it again, wants to invite Hank inside and kiss him again, wants to... _something_. Everything Connor wants would likely be unwelcome, not to mention wholly inappropriate for an explicitly platonic date.

Hank’s mouth turns up at one side. “It’s been real, kid,” he says. “I hope your shitty dad sleeps terribly tonight.” After a moment, he holds out his hand for Connor to shake, and Connor takes it.

“I’m sure he will,” Connor says. “Thank you.”

Hank’s hand is big and warm, and Connor thinks about how it felt on his neck and cupping his face. He has to make himself let go, open the car door, and walk inside his front door without looking back.

01110011 

Connor spends the next week wallowing.

He imagines scenario after scenario based on different choices he could have made on Thanksgiving and afterward, but none of these lead to Hank dating him.

Connor’s fantasies, however, refuse to stop. Connor sees himself kissing Hank, imagines texting him to ask him on a date. He imagines blowing him right there in the front of that beat-up Ford.

Connor goes to work distracted and writes code so full of errors that his boss tells him to take the rest of the day off. He goes to class and can’t focus on the material.

Finally, on the Friday eight days after Thanksgiving, Connor composes a message with unsteady fingers.

 _I still have that ring you gave me,_ he writes. _Could I come over and give it back?_

 _Sure,_ Hank replies. _I’m around tonight if you want._

00100000 

When Hank opens the door, Sumo is on Connor right away, licking his face.

“He remembered you,” Hank says, beaming. “He likes you.”

Connor smiles back. “I like dogs,” he says. “I like Sumo.” Connor is surprised by how calm he feels now, such a contrast to his anxiety earlier this evening. Hank puts him at ease in a way few people do.

Connor thinks they could be good together, if only he can convince Hank to give him a chance.

He lets Hank help him to his feet, and then he twists Hank’s ring off his finger and holds it out in his palm.

Hank takes it carefully and puts it in his pocket. “It looked good on you,” he murmurs.

Connor’s eyes snap to Hank’s face. “Thank you.”

They stand there awkwardly in the entryway for a few moments, and Connor guesses he’s supposed to leave now but wants desperately to stay.

“Dinner just came,” Hank says. “Pizza. Would you like to join me?”

Connor almost laughs in relief. “I’d love to,” he says.

01100010 

They take the pizza into the living room and sit on the couch, half-facing each other. Connor knows that if he doesn’t say something, he’s going to spend the next who-knows-how-long being a wreck, and after tonight, he’ll be out of excuses to see Hank again unless he admits how much he wants to.

“Hank,” he begins. “I’m sorry if this is too forward.”

Hank looks up, and his eyes are piercing, his expression attentive but calm.

“I like you,” Connor says.

Hank’s mouth falls open, and after a few seconds, he laughs. “Yeah?”

Connor blows out a breath. “ _Yes_ ,” he says, smiling back. “I’d like to take you on a date, a real one this time with absolutely no homophobic family members present.”

Hank’s expression is soft, and Connor feels warm. “How about right now?” he says. “We’ve got pizza. I can put on a movie. Sumo will put his head in your lap, but you can tell him to get down if you want.”

“That sounds perfect,” Connor says.

“Also,” Hank adds in a low voice, “if you wanted to make out on the couch, that’s an option, too.”

Connor puts down his slice of pizza and grab’s Hank’s shirt with both hands.

01100100

Simon calls the next day to say that Markus is his boyfriend now. Hank and Connor aren’t boyfriends yet, but they’re something good. Connor is excited to find out what they’re going to be.

North takes full credit and insists on vetting Hank before things progress further, but when Hank gives off no creepy vibes despite her most cleavage-enhancing top, she pronounces him acceptable. Coming from a lesbian who hates men more than anyone Connor has ever met, that’s practically a ringing endorsement.

 01100101

Connor is still angry at his father. He probably always will be.

But he isn’t alone anymore, not if he doesn’t want to be.

Hank makes sure of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it! Also, the binary that makes up the section breaks spells out a [secret message](https://www.rapidtables.com/convert/number/binary-to-ascii.html). ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
